


Clean up Crew

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Reader fic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke/You, with you as a female Rebel fighter who is invited to Luke's bedroom for a drink and a conversation that turns into total self-serving smut. Completely self-indulgent Luke/Reader fic for the darling shadesofbravery.tumblr.com</p>
<p>“Hey, where are you off to?” He is asking you, and your eyes are watching the cupid’s-bow of his mouth again, and your throat is dry again.</p>
<p>“Nowhere in particular,” You lie, a missive for a commanding officer being slowly forgotten in your pocket.</p>
<p>“Wanna get another drink?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. He needs a haircut, you think.</p>
<p>You know the rebels efforts are mostly in stabilization these days, like an intergalactic clean-up crew in the wake of the Empire’s failure. You wonder how long Luke will be hanging around, how long you will be hanging around, for that matter.</p>
<p>“Sure,” you smile back at him, too wide, too obviously infatuated, a mixture of hero-worship and unadulterated attraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean up Crew

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know shit all about Star Wars I hope you enjoy!

The temperature on Hoth had been uncomfortably, _penetratingly_ cold. It had turned your extremities numb and made your nose bright pink, the metal of the gun at your side had seemed to be a living thing, biting cold into your hip even as you had fled the Empire.

You saw Luke first here – towards the beginning – and as you watch him pass you in the corridor again you feel as if you are back on Hoth. Your fingertips, at least, you can feel, but your heart is beating just as quickly.

“Hey,” you manage, and he gives you a quick, blinding smile that makes you think of the second time you’d seen him – after Endor. The battle had left you drenched in sweat, humidity hanging in the air and suffocating you, your breath already stolen by the thrill of victory, your throat raw from shouting. Your cheeks had been red with pleasure, your eyes stinging from perspiration and tears.

He had invited you to drink with him, you had spent the night talking about past happiness and future plans. You’d been distracted by the curve of his lower lip and the freckles near his ear, and you had wanted to kiss him – dreadfully inappropriate thoughts that you had shuffled away to the filing cabinet of _Things That Won’t Ever Happen_ at the back of your mind.

“Hey, where are you off to?” He is asking you, and your eyes are watching the cupid’s-bow of his mouth again, and your throat is dry again.

“Nowhere in particular,” You lie, a missive for a commanding officer being slowly forgotten in your pocket.

“Wanna get another drink?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. _He needs a haircut,_ you think.

You know the rebels efforts are mostly in stabilization these days, like an intergalactic clean-up crew in the wake of the Empire’s failure. You wonder how long Luke will be hanging around, how long _you_ will be hanging around, for that matter.

“Sure,” you smile back at him, too wide, too obviously infatuated, a mixture of hero-worship and unadulterated attraction.

He leads you through the corridors of the base, occasionally turning around to smile, as if checking that you’re still following. You haven’t been in this part of the base before, you’re unsure where he’s taking you, but your feet are still moving and your heart is still pounding too fast, and you can’t really bring yourself to care.

He opens a door that leads to one of the bigger suites the base has to offer – and belatedly you realize that you’re in _Luke Skywalker’s room._

“Any preference?” He’s asking, slipping off his jacket and walking over to a small fridge near the entrance. He toes off his boots as well, his bare feet pale against the black-tiled floor.

“Ah – no.” You say, looking around the room. It’s mostly bare, just clothes and essentials lining shelves and floor-space.

He hands you a bottle of something clear, it tastes sweet and heavy, a distinct tang of alcohol.

“It’s not as good as the post-Endor stuff,” He shrugs, padding over to his bed and sitting on the edge.

“It’s good,” You reassure him, looking around for somewhere else to sit. He sees you looking and shuffles his position, patting the bed next to him.

You can feel yourself blushing, but you grin as you cross the floor and sit down next to him, knees touching as you adjust the gun against your hip.

“Want some help?” He asks, and you’re unsure of what he means, but you’re drinking on a bed with Luke Skywalker so you just nod and hope it’s the right answer.

It becomes alarmingly clear that you made the correct choice when he puts down his drink and reaches around your waist, hands moving over your hips and fumbling with something at your back. He’s biting his lip in concentration, too close to your face and smelling _far_ too good. Like ozone and stars, his eyes catching your expression and his mouth huffing a laugh. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he sits back, your unclipped weapons-belt in his hand.

“Not the comfiest things to wear,” He explains, putting it down on the dresser and picking up his drink, taking another swig.

“I…. yeah.” You agree, covering your sudden arousal with another sip of your drink, pressing your legs together and wondering what you had gotten yourself into now. A crush on Luke Skywalker was all well and good when you were a Rebel fighter, seeing him plunging into battle far before you, or watching him take off with Han Solo. But here? _Next_ to him? On a _bed?_

“I should go,” You say quickly, standing. He stands with you, putting his drink behind him and taking your elbows.

“Hey, no you don’t have to go. I’m sorry did- the belt thing?”

“No it’s fine, I just-”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable I thought that-”

“It was fine it was good, you’re really nice-”

“Just trying to help and… You think I’m nice?”

He’s grinning at you now and you’re sure your face is red, your fingers gripping your bottle too tight.

“Yeah.” You say awkwardly, and he’s still grinning.

“Just _nice.”_

“Well… among other things.” You amend.

He drops his hands from your elbows, stuffing them in his pockets.

“You’re nice too.” He offers, and you shake your head with a laugh, a sip of your drink turning into a heavy gulp as you watch his eyes watch your mouth in some kind of bizarre tableau of a dream you’ve probably had.

“Nice,” you repeat, sitting down again on his bed. He seems relieved, sitting down next to you and picking up his drink again.

“Sure,” he says. “I remember after Endor we spoke for a while and you were really…”

“Nice.” You say again, and he laughs.

“Yeah.” He agrees with a shrug.

You’re both drinking in silence then, smiling to yourselves and staring at the floor.

“So do you make a habit of this?” You ask absently.

“Drinking in my room?” He asks. “Or awkwardly complimenting female fighters.”

“Both,” you laugh.

“The first one occasionally. The second one… well, you’re the first.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Good… I think.” He smiles. “Are we asking questions now?”

“Are we?” You challenge, feeling alcohol settling pleasantly in your chest, your nervousness fading with liquid courage.

“Alright,” he puts down his bottle – now empty, you realize. “What did you mean by ‘among other things’?”

You almost choke on your drink but manage to swallow, feeling a blush on your cheeks again and wondering if there will ever be an end to you embarrassing yourself in front of a war hero.

“Surely you’re aware of… you.” You manage.

“Oh?” He answers, confident in a way you expected, but with a similar blush on his cheeks that makes you feel comforted and somehow complimented.

“Sure. You’re _Luke Skywalker,_ the name is synonymous with hero at this point. Especially among rebel fighters.”

His lips quirk and he nods, clearly unused to the compliment despite its obviousness.

“Also,” you say, emboldened. “You’re quite attractive.”

He laughs delightedly, and you hide your smile by finishing your drink, looking at the empty bottle for a moment before your eyes start to wander around the room, looking for a trash chute or a bin.

“Just leave it on the dresser,” He advises, still smiling. “I’ll sort it out later.”

You nod and lean forward to put your bottle next to his, finding yourself once again in alarmingly close proximity, his breath cloyingly sweet as he exhales. You’re half-over his lap now, trying to work out how to get back to your seat in a semi dignified way.

“Need help?” he asks, clearly noting your predicament.

“Mm,” You agree, not trusting yourself to speak as he again places his hands on your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You make the mistake of looking towards his face, and suddenly you two are sharing the same air, his eyes so close you can count the freckles around them, taste the fruitiness of his breath, feel the heat on his cheeks.

“I-” You begin to say something, but the sentence is lost when you notice he isn’t moving anymore, just holding you still as his eyes flit over your features. You want him to stop looking at you, to stop noticing any imperfections you might have this close-up. You want to kiss him, the thought loud in your head as your eyes lock on his mouth. The smile has disappeared, his mouth slightly open, and you feel your stomach clench as you turn your neck _just slightly_ and feel his next exhalation over your mouth.

“Luke,” You say, your lips touching his with the word, and his eyes are closing and his hands are tightening on your hips, and then you’re kissing him.

It’s wonderful and dizzying, his tongue sweet as he presses it against your bottom lip, his hands clenching to fists against your clothes when you bite down gently.

He turns you both and presses you into the mattress, not disconnecting your lips as he continues to devour you, mouth working impossibly while his fingernails bite at your ribcage.

You’re drunk with arousal, hitching up one leg so his pelvis falls against yours, and you gasp at the bulge that presses into your thigh.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling back.

“Sorry,” you reply.

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks, and you shrug and move a hand to his hair, pulling him back down to kiss him hungrily, and his moan is surprised and delicious against your lips.

You lock your ankles behind his back, pulling him closer, winding your fingers further into his hair, scratching against his scalp as you move your hips slightly, pressing your centre into the hard line of his cock, making him moan again, pulling away from your mouth.

“You don’t have to, I know you see me a more of a-”

You cut off his sentence with another kiss and he pulls away again.

“Hero figure, maybe, but I don’t want to pressure you and you aren’t-”

You bite his lip this time, hands possessive in his hair. He pulls away and you breathe heavily as you look up at him.

“Obliged.” He finished his sentence with a huff.

“Okay,” you reply, your voice slightly darker than you’ve heard it. “Can we keep going with the… kissing thing now?”

“Uh… yes.” He says, fitting himself over your body and touching his lips to yours once more and you hum into his mouth, your back arching as he swipes his tongue over your lips again.

His hand is at your side, trailing gently over your ribs and between your breasts. You press into the feeling, and he obligingly skims his fingers over your peaked nipple, making you gasp against his mouth. He is smiling, and he repeats the notion, pinching you through the material of your regulation-white shirt.

“Please,” You huff, and you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for, but his fingers catch the edge of your shirt and pull it upwards, over your head and somewhere off the bed, and then he’s kissing down your neck and licking over your collarbone, his breath hot as he reaches your bra and tugs it down, mouth pursing around your nipple, the feeling shooting straight down to your core and forcing a throaty moan from you.

He sucks gently, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin before he continues moving downwards, kissing over each rib and then your hips, his clever hands finding your pants button and tugging it out impatiently, pulling down your pants and underclothes with one movement.

Suddenly you are bare before him, your skin tingling hot and cold, your breath caught in your chest, the cold air of his room brushing against your wetness.

He takes his time undressing you completely, pulling off your boots and then tugging your pants down the rest of the way, repositioning your knees wider, sliding your calves over his shoulders as he kisses up your thigh.

“Luke,” you half-whisper, moving up onto your elbows to look down at him. He’s smiling at you from between your legs, fingers tracing up your knees towards your hips, looping back down to brush your inner thigh, one finger swiping up your slit in a movement that makes your elbows give out, forcing you back onto the bed bodily as he exhales shakily.

“So wet,” he comments. “I’ve been thinking about you,”

“Y-yeah?” You manage.

“Yeah,” he replies, his breath hot over you, making you whimper.

You want to tell him that you think of him too, that you have an unhealthily developed crush on him, that he clouds your thoughts before bed, but suddenly his tongue is on you and it’s very hard to speak – let alone _think_ – for the moment.

He licks over you with a heavy tongue, the feeling making your legs spread as you moan, wondering if you should be keeping quiet.

He finds your clit and _sucks_ , pointed tongue flicking over and over in quick movements that make your body twitch in pleasure, your eyes wide.

His finger finds you again, pressing against your entrance and then pushing in slowly, the wetness making it an easy glide that pulls a deep moan out of your chest, his tongue lapping over you in tandem with thrusts from his finger, and you’re approaching your climax faster than you’d like, repeating his name in a mantra that grows in pitch and volume as he buries his face gracelessly against you, licking hungrily as you come, feeling wetness over your thigh, jerking away from his tongue.

You look down at him bemusedly, and he wipes his chin against his sleeve as he climbs up your body, stopping short of your mouth.

“Do you mind?” He asks, and you tangle one hand in his lapel to pull him down, kissing him harshly.

He laughs into your mouth, the pressure of his body a pleasant weight against you.

You can feel the length of his erection against your hip, and you move your hands down to touch him.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers, and you ignore it, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock, not bothering to remove any clothing as you guide it towards your entrance, pressing the heel of your foot into his back as you lift your hips, sheathing him in one smooth movement that pulls an amazed _“Oh,”_ from his mouth.

You grin against his shoulder, feeling as he twitches inside of you, filling you up and making you _clench_ , still sensitive from your orgasm as you roll your hips against him.

He moves his hands to your wrists, tugging them above your head and pinning them there as he pulls out and then _pushes_ back in with a smooth movement that makes your eyes roll, a breathless _yes_ escaping you, your body pulling against his hands.

He holds you tightly, thrusting deeply and slowly picking up rhythm, his eyes skitting all over you, from your breasts to your face, biting his lip as he fucks you with slow intent.

He releases your wrists and moves his hands to your legs, trailing fingers down towards your knees, pulling them upwards and reaching a deeper angle in you that makes stars explode behind your eyes.

“F-fuck, _Luke.”_ You moan, and he grins as he picks up his pace, and you feel another orgasm building, your hands moving to roam over his shoulders, holding on as his thrusts get deeper and harder.   
“I’m close, I-I can’t,” you bite out, and he leans down, biting your neck as his fingers find your nipple again, pinching _hard_ and forcing an orgasm to shudder through your body, moaning as you clench around him, his thrusts stuttering in rhythm, and he groans deeply as he comes as well, warmth spreading in your abdomen almost forcing another orgasm out of you.

“Shit,” you whisper, kissing his shoulder and then his neck, smiling as he climbs off you, zipping up his pants slowly.

“You… uh. Want another drink?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sure,” you agree, sitting up and looking around for your clothes. You’ve been warmed by the sex, a comfortable middle temperature.

It all feels like a fever dream, something confusing and hazy around the edges. You stand as well, unashamed in your nakedness. You trained hard to join the Rebels, you know each curve and bulge of your body, and you can see the hunger in his eyes when he turns from the fridge and sees you still there, still naked.

“So, what do heroes do when they’re finished fighting the war?” You ask him as you accept the bottle from his hands.

He shrugged, “Not too sure.”

“Well, do you have plans for tonight?” You ask him.

“No, I don’t think so,” he muses, sitting on the bed and patting against his thigh, grinning as you sit in his lap. “Why, did you?”

You swivel in your seat, straddling his hips and smiling. “I have a few ideas.”


End file.
